


should have been

by RaucousEmu (gallifvrey)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Dreaming about the future, M/M, Not Beta Read (We Die Like Archival Assistants), Post 170, Post Apocalypse, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), Soft Vibes (but also sad), Vague Theory For The End Of The Show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifvrey/pseuds/RaucousEmu
Summary: They begin to talk, slowly, tentatively, as they settle into a routine and settle into this new normality. It begins with a simple slip of the tongue,“Jon, do you think we need more tea at home?”Martin seems to hardly realize what he’s said, but Jon, Jon notices, and smiles a little, at the ease at which they’re settling into this new life. This life, withtheirhome, where they are safe, for now. The beginning of their new lives, albeit hiding from their all knowing boss with whatever devious plan he has. They are learning how to survive.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 6
Kudos: 67





	should have been

**Author's Note:**

> someone mentioned something about ep 200 being the moments that jon and martin could have had. it got me thinking. then i wrote this. i hope you enjoy.

They begin to talk, slowly, tentatively, as they settle into a routine and settle into this new normality. It begins with a simple slip of the tongue, 

_“Jon, do you think we need more tea at home?”_

Martin seems to hardly realize what he’s said, but Jon, Jon notices, and smiles a little, at the ease at which they’re settling into this new life. This life, with _their_ home, where they are safe, for now. The beginning of their new lives, albeit hiding from their all knowing boss with whatever devious plan he has. They are learning how to survive. 

\--

It is the little moments that build up.

Martin doesn’t like being alone very much anymore, and after all the two of them have little ability to interact with anyone but themselves, so it would be remiss to not take some time to try and get along the best they can. It begins when they go to a store together, buying some more furniture for the home because neither of them know how long they are going to stay, but this makes the home feel just a little bit more _theirs_. 

And Martin insists, in the end, _“Jon, we need more pillows for the couch! You keep taking all of them to build yourself a little cocoon of pillows, but then I’m left with none!”_ and Jon agrees, begrudgingly, to come along. 

They are meandering around the aisles of a small home goods store in the village, with it’s vaguely overpriced trinkets and they’ve picked up a few things, by this point. Martin is carrying a basket with some throw pillows stuffed into it, a few novelty animal mugs they have on the shelves. They see at one point a retro tape player, and Jon starts to reach for it, unexpectedly drawn just to its existence, but Martin bats his arm down as soon as he notices.

“I think we’ve got quite enough of those at home, Jon” 

And the word _home_ makes Jon smile, again, as soon as he is out of his trance, and he agrees, of course, and nods and Martin is holding his hand now as they traverse the rest of the shop. It is the best feeling in the world.

They’re nearly done, having explored most of the nooks and crannies, both of them desperate to spend as much time outside of their home as possible, as after all, there is only so much either of them can do in a remote house overlooking a field. They’re nearly done when Martin sees it, startling Jon out of staring at the intricately decorated clay bowl on a shelf (the pattern spiraling in on itself, over and over), and he gasps and pulls Jon forward, rushing towards _something_ until, suddenly stopping and making an incredible cooing noise.

_“Martin, Martin is everything alright?”_ Jon hears himself say, but even as he speaks he looks up, ahead of Martin and sees exactly what it is that Martin is so excited about.

It’s a stuffed highland cow, reminiscent of the ones near to their home. It’s clearly a toy intended for children, and is arguably far overpriced for the size and the materials but, and Jon would be remiss to admit it, it is _rather cute_. Martin ends up picking one up, the middlest size, and clutches it to his chest, both Jon’s hand and the shopping basket now on the floor in favor of cuddling the toy. 

He turns to look at Jon with an expression of joy that Jon is not certain he has seen in quite some time. Especially not recently, not since the lonely, but even before then they were always so overworked, so tired, and Jon never bothered to make an effort to interact outside of work hours, and well. 

He sees Martin beaming and clutching this toy cow and he feels his heart melt, a little. The world seems to righten itself, just a bit, the impending doom is forgotten for just a moment.

Of course they buy it. The cow sits in their living room now, right between the numerous throw pillows they’ve begun to accumulate, as though it is gazing upon its domain of softness. Martin insists on a name but they can’t quite agree, so it’s instead referred to simply as _a very good cow_ lovingly by them both.

It is a symbol of the world that they want to live in.

\--

It’s shared moments of laughter, of joy, of the experiences they have that are soft, for once, not sharp and blinding and full of fear. 

It is a walk through the hills at sunset, watching the cows ( _They’re_ very _good cows, Jon)_ as they munch on the grass. It’s stopping to take in the sunset together, staring off into the vastness that is the countryside as the sky dips below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of purple and pink and orange.

It is weekly grocery trips, of Martin learning that Jon does know how to cook, he just didn’t have time for it. Of Jon learning that Martin knows how to bake, and knows how to bake well, and the smell of fresh bread wafting through the house.

It is one night, when they are bored and restless, the cable cutting out for the fifth time that hour, taking a towel from the cupboard and a few pillows and lying down on the field beyond their home, gazing up at the stars. It is the glee in Jon’s voice when he realizes that they can see faint hints of the northern lights. It is the warm hand that finds his as they doze off right there, on the soft dirt of the field and blanketed by the beauty of the stars.

\--

It begins slowly, and ridiculously, and frankly Jon is grateful that there is no one they know in the area because he is certain that someone, such as Georgie, would immediately laugh at him if she knew how he was acting.

It begins with occasional hand holding. As they go on walks together occasionally their hands brush one another and fingers hook together. Neither of them make any remarks about it - the moment is over at some point when a bee flies too close to Jon and startles him or Martin sees a particularly good cow and rushes over, sounds of glee and excitement tumbling out of his lips, the peace and quiet forgotten. 

Jon starts grabbing Martin’s hand when he feels him fading, the pull of the lonely sometimes is too strong. On bad days, when the fog rolls in and the sky is dark and they can see no one for miles, Jon takes to not letting go of Martin for the entire day. 

Neither of them talk about it, but it starts happening more - when they go to grocery stores or the shops in the village. More frequently on their walks, and even sometimes in their own home, on days when neither of them need it.

When they first arrived, Jon took to sleeping on the sofa, Martin took the bed upstairs. It is a few weeks until it becomes more unbearable, Jon starting to complain about the aches in his back, Martin mentioning how _lonely_ the bed feels without someone else to join him. 

They barely even talk about it, instead one night when they are done for the evening, Jon gets changed and joins Martin in bed instead of heading to the couch downstairs, nestling under the covers, his spine grateful for the ability to sleep stretched out.

Somewhere, in the night, Martin’s hand grabs his. Jon lies in bed in the morning for an extra hour to avoid letting go.

\-- 

It’s slow, but it’s okay. For once, they have time.

By the time they kiss, it’s as though it has been happening for months. They kiss and it feels like _safe,_ and _home,_ and _comfort_. It isn’t a massive revelation, a massive professing of love and devotion. The first time it happens, Jon is cooking dinner in the evening, simmering vegetables for a stew he is making, Martin is sitting at the table nearby, under the premise of writing poems but spending more time simply watching Jon work. 

He is watching Jon as he stirs the pot, dips a spoon in to taste the broth and his face scrunches up when he tries it, probably not enough seasoning, or too much seasoning, or that Martin had grabbed the wrong kind again and it wasn’t what Jon was envisioning. 

Martin is watching Jon and he can’t stop himself from thinking, _Oh, I am in love with this man_ and _oh, I want to kiss him._

He stands up before he can stop himself, unsure of exactly what he is going to do when he reaches Jon, unsure of how to begin this conversation, to start off with, 

“Hey, Jon?” and Jon’s head turns around, locks eyes with his and they just stop, and stare, for a moment, and then there is _something_ , because Jon leans forward and presses his lips against Martin’s, and he feels…

_Right_.

(They don’t leave each other for the rest of the night, hands holding while they eat, Martin’s head on Jon’s shoulder as they watch TV. They kiss again, and again, and again and Martin thinks that it should lose its comfort by now, surely, but it never, ever, does.)

\--

It takes a few months, and it becomes hopeful. 

Their routine becomes stable, comfortable, there is no one who is bothering them, Jon is able to sustain himself on the tape recorders and transcripts that Basira sends, and Martin sometimes lasts a few hours on foggy days on his own. They are growing, they are getting better, they are living, _finally_.

It doesn’t take long until they begin daydreaming about the future. It begins jokingly, a number of throwaway comments, _they are so used to being chased, staying still for so long feels impossible._

Martin notices a wall with chipped away paint, and when he mentions it to Jon, he only replies, “ _Oh, well, if we’re still here next month, we’ll get it fixed”._

Martin laughs, and it is forgotten, and then a month does go by, and they are still there (they do not fix the wall).

But it becomes more concrete after that, comments of “well, this house is lovely and all, but we could really do for a place that has reputable cell service” or “in the next house we could maybe consider getting a place that has actual vents in the kitchen”, when they stand outside in the rain, waiting for the smoke to clear and the fire brigade to arrive.

And then, slowly, slowly as months pass and they are finally, blessedly, _okay, for once_ , these conversations begin to be more concrete. 

Jon is the one to bring it up first, on one of their long walks. They’re traveling the same path they’ve gone on so many times, Martin is nearly sure that he would be able to do it in his sleep. Seemingly, out of nowhere, Jon asks,

“If we moved, would you want to live in London again?” 

Admittedly, it catches Martin off guard and he doesn’t quite know how to respond. He has never bothered to think about where he would _like_ to live, given the option. It was so many years of staying close to his mother, or trying to get to a place he’d be able to get a job, or then, living wherever he had a job, ending up in London, in the end. He thinks for a little bit longer, they continue walking in silence, before finally responding, 

“You know, Jon? I really don’t know”

And Jon just hums in response and they keep walking, silently, letting the sounds of the country wash over them, not for the first time, and not for the last, but the reassurance of it never seems to lose meaning. 

The comments keep coming, from them both. An occasional question of “how would you feel about Edinburg, I hear they’ve got a great art scene”, or “maybe we could move somewhere by the ocean”, to which Martin simply shuddered and shot down immediately. 

Their world feels bright, finally. It is full of hope, of promise, of a life they stopped hoping they could get, that they would never dare dream of. They are only capable of living in fear for so long, and it is so, so easy to fall into kindness, to grow accustomed to the peace of the world in which they live. They are not fixed, they are not fully better, Martin wakes up some days and he cannot be alone, Jon is plagued by the temptation to devour fears; they have been marked by the world and they are not able to escape so easily.

But, the moments that are soft, that are kind and peaceful lull them into security, it lets them rest, lets them dream about the future that they could have, and with every passing day, both begin to feel as though that reality might really happen.

\-- 

And then the world ends.

They try to hold on to the hope, the gleaming bright future they both let themselves believe they could get, a world that they hadn’t let themselves dream about in so many years. It was all lost now, so grim and hopeless. 

Jon tries to keep up the questions, in the beginning. Grasping at memories of the future they dreamed of, sometimes trying to trick himself into believing that it could still end up. Martin indulges him at first, tells Jon what color walls they should paint their bedroom, how many cats they should get. It gets too much, in the end. A constant reminder of what could have been. 

Martin snaps, one day, a biting “ _Just let it go, okay?”_ when Jon asks some question about their home. It is painful, prodding too much at a sore wound, he feels the longing welling up deep inside of him and it feels that if he spends more time thinking about it, it will pour up out of him and drown them both. It is better to simply not think. 

Jon does drop it, and they continue on in this world in silence, hardly speaking at that point but they are moving through various domains so quickly that it feels more like survival than any need for small talk. They just try to survive, and that is the best that they can do.

Jon finds beauty in it, this world of terrors and nightmares, and Martin tries his hardest to understand, to see what Jon sees but sometimes it makes him feel sick instead so he simply follows, comforted slightly in the shadow of Jon’s power, of his destruction, of his creations.

Martin gets separated, at one point, Jon moving too many steps ahead and they no longer are holding hands and when Jon turns around Martin is just gone, lost in the foggy darkness and Jon realizes that he would do anything to get him back. Jon is reminded of the horror of losing Martin, and Martin is reminded of the horror of being lost. 

They stay near each other, after that.

They begin to talk more too, about the world which they are inhabiting and the people they have become. They talk about what they are seeing, about the lives that they can’t save and the lives they hope so desperately can still be saved. They talk about their past, of fond memories of what had been. They talk about what Martin sees, sometimes about what Jon Sees, and they talk about what is to come, what to expect, and sometimes, sometimes they talk about how they can try to fix it. 

They are no longer the same people who they once were. They have both been molded by the world around them, puppeted by powers they could never dream of understanding. They are the last true survivors of this world, and are trying to fix it with powers that are sometimes beyond comprehension.

They start to hold hands again, and when Martin locks his fingers around Jon’s, the world feels just a little bit safer, a little bit clearer. When they kiss, for that moment, all the horror and despair is forgotten.

\--

There was never going to be a good ending to the apocalypse. Jon knew that as soon as he felt the words being pulled out of him back in the safehouse - back in _their house_. He Knew that when they left the house and he could really See what he had created.

There are no happy endings. 

Jon lies in the ruins of the world that he had created and now has destroyed. The air is still tinged with the smell of smoke and the remains of fears. He has fixed it the best he could, brought justice to the world in the only way he could. This was not his fault ( _oh, but wasn’t everything, just a little_ ).

He knows he is not going to be here for much longer, that there is nothing left for him. But he has his mind, and he has his thoughts, and for a little bit, he _thinks_.

He thinks of the life that he and Martin could have lived.

Of their small flat in London, or Manchester, or York. Away from Elias and the powers and they were just safe. Of a cat, lounging in their living room, basking in the sun. Of freshly baked cookies and fresh bread and filling meals. 

Of laughter, and happiness. Of being able to mend relationships with Georgie and Melanie and Daisy and Basira. Of Tim and Sasha, alive and whole and _themselves_ , not shaped and ruined by the world which was so cruel to all of them. Of evenings filled with friends and laughter, of comforting touches and not flinching away. 

Of a couch, soft and worn in, because this time, this time they were finally able to be home enough to really use it. Of sitting around and watching television on late nights, of watching Martin scribble poetry in an old notebook. Of being able to fill up the kitchen with the delicious smells of a home cooked dinner, and a nightly routine of sitting at the table and eating together.

Of being able to learn, to read, and to live without the pressure it has had. Of being able to explore new hobbies, of paint smudged on their hands when they try to take a painting class together, both of them failing miserably. Of being able to experience the world not alone, but as a team, as a pair. Of support, and of understanding, and of _belonging_.

He thinks of them, in a new city, walking around, exploring, discovering the locations they never would have had time to visit. Of a park with chirping birds the quiet rustling of leaves. Of them walking, holding hands, and never letting go, fingers interlocked and swaying in sync with each step. Of being grounded with one another, of knowing that they are together, and they have a future, and they are going to be okay.

Lying on the ashes of this broken world, so very alone, body bruised and broken in ways beyond comprehension, Jon thinks of the world he has worked so hard to try and save, takes a breath, and thinks,

Of Martin, smiling, eyes crinkling in the corners, always a blinding smile and unbridled joy whenever he’d see Jon. He thinks of leaning in, hands interlocking and bodies flushed together, of the warmth and comfort and of _safety_. He leans in and presses their lips together, feels Martin’s smile against his mouth and feels the belonging, as though he was never meant to be anywhere else. Their lips are pressed together and he is _safe_ , and he sighs, just a little, and slowly, his eyes begin to shut, and slowly, the world goes dark.

**Author's Note:**

> now, wasn't that just lovely? feel free to follow me on tumblr @ the-darkgod.tumblr.com :)


End file.
